


What are Words?

by knights-and-musketeers (periken)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos is more cuddly than he looks, Brotherly Love, Caring Porthos, Drunk Athos, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship - Relationship - Freeform, Gen, Humor, M/M, Porthos loves cuddly Athos, Sick Athos, Sick Fic, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periken/pseuds/knights-and-musketeers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick Fic. Athos finds himself wasted outside the tavern and has to make his way back in the cold rain. You can guess what happens after that and Porthos comes to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What are Words?

**Author's Note:**

> I choose to blame evilmaniclaugh for getting me into shipping Athos & Porthos. :P

The rain thrums on the roof of the tavern, the sound mixing in with the overpowering noise of revelers in the establishment. The dim orange glow being cast from the buildings and down upon the streets cause the light to reflect off the droplets, making the rain seem like shining crystals showering down from the sky. Water and sludge collect in the jagged surface of the road, littering it with deep puddles for the last few stragglers to step into. A chilling gust blows the rain in various angles, imitating the atmosphere of a blizzard and leaving the streets of Paris barren as people shelter themselves at home from the terrible weather.

A group of young men exit the tavern immersed in conversations with each other, the occasional wave of laughter bursting out from the crowd. They notice the large puddles built up in the rugged streets and the men stomp around in them like children frolicking in the rain.

Athos is brought into consciousness from the splash of water and sludge that fly into his face. He is welcomed by a throbbing headache along with a terrible churning in the pit of his stomach. Lifting his head slightly, he opens his eyes, barely able to keep them open long enough to focus on what's in front of him as the world seems to be spinning. The drunk drops his head back down into the sludge that he lays in as the pounding headache becomes worse with it held up. His disheveled hair is filled with clumps of mud and sticks to the side of his face from the wet sludge. The rain blows fiercely against him, causing a shivering chill throughout his weary body. Athos groans at the slow realisation of the raging rain around him. Out of all the days, it just has to be rainy tonight. Wonderful.

"Looks like someone had one too many," a man from the group snickers as he kicks more wet sludge at the lieutenant.

Athos doesn't even have the strength to deal with what's going on. The wine and ale having taken all of his energy and sense of direction. Despite the wetness seeping through his breeches and doublet, he decides to remain on the ground for a while longer, at least until his head didn't feel like a whirlpool.

The musketeer isn't sure how much time has passed, but he attempts to get up after the world didn't seem to be rotating wildly. With much difficulty, he rolls over from his side and onto his stomach. He plants a hand firmly on the ground and tries to lift himself up so the other hand can help support his body. Once he does, he notices how much his arms are trembling and one of them slips onto its forearm. Athos is gasping for air as he goes for another attempt to get up again. He manages to keep both arms from shaking and slides his knees into a kneeling position. Pulling himself upright, he nearly topples back down from the dizziness and quickly grabs at the nearest wooden leg that holds the tavern. After the dizziness subsides, the drunk uses all of the leftover strength he has to get into a standing position by slowly clawing his way up the wooden support, but not without leaning heavily against the column once up. The headache is worse than ever now that he's standing, making focusing a lot more difficult. The weather isn't exactly helping either with the chilling gusts of rain causing his wet clothes to feel heavy and cold.

Panting sharply from the efforts of pulling himself up, Athos' first thought is to check in to a nearby inn for the night rather than go back to the garrison. He reaches into his purse for money, but to his disappointment finds none. How much did he drink? He can't even remember. Everything is a blur. Cursing under his breath, he trudges his way in the direction of the garrison while latching onto anything that can keep him upright.

The trek back is laborious, with his buckling legs constantly threatening to slam him to the ground. His socks are somehow drenched, making an unpleasant squishing sound with every step. The wet clothing sticks to his body uncomfortably, making movement feel like carrying a loading weight. He has to pause every little while to catch his breath and give his legs a rest. Although one too many times has those breaks been spent expelling the contents stirring in his stomach and having cough attacks from the sick feeling in his throat.

After what seems like forever, he finally makes it back to the garrison, but not without almost tripping multiple times when crossing the vast courtyard due to there being nothing available to help guide him in the darkness.

Going up the stairs is a whole new challenge in itself as his feet won't move any further. He's ready to capitulate and just resign to lying on the stairs in the rain for the night, but the biting cold changes his mind quickly enough. By a miracle, he manages to drag himself to his room, fumbling with the door handle a few times before almost tumbling to the floor as he enters.

Sweat drips down his forehead from the long journey home. His body still shivers, knees knocking together even though he's inside now. Despite how cold he is on the outside, his insides feel like they're burning. The heat makes the headache grow worse than it already has as if someone is hitting his head like a gong, vibrating the pain everywhere. Athos' tired state of mind convinces him that it's merely the alcohol's effect and to just go sleep it off. His body moves on its own accord, crashing onto the bed without changing or cleaning himself up and falling asleep almost instantly.

\----------

A sudden thud from next door wakes Porthos from his slumber. He sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and glances wearily at the window seeing nothing but darkness and hearing only the light pitter patter of rain.

The noise couldn't have been from Aramis. Treville sent him on a solo mission and he isn't expected to return until dawn.

The only other candidate is Athos. He heard him arrive back quite late last night, assuming the man must of been out drinking again. Athos would come home late at night often and despite knowing it's usually his drunken state causing the noises, Porthos still goes to check on him every time, thinking that something will be wrong the one time he doesn't. It's become much of a routine now.

Porthos climbs out of bed, pulling on his shirt and boots before heading out the door to Athos' room. He knocks, but receives no reply. "Athos? You alright in 'here?" Porthos asks. Again, no response.

Normally, he'd receive a mumbled 'I'm fine' or some sort of reply from the man, but after a few moments of silence Porthos gets slightly worried. He peeks through the window, but the curtains are closed. He's unsure if Athos is asleep or unconscious. Not wanting it to be the latter, the large musketeer jiggles the door handle and is surprised to discover that the door is unlocked. Fearing someone may have broken in, Porthos reaches for the hidden main gauche in his boots and arms himself for any potential threats. He cautiously enters the room, his heart pounding with worry and fear.

His heart leaps into his throat at the sight of Athos half-toppled off the bed, face first on the floor. He drops the dagger and immediately rushes to his brother's side and calls his name, his voice filled to the brim with fear. 

"Athos? Athos?"

Receiving nothing but silence, Porthos gently cradles his head while lifting his body upright with an arm around his waist to move him onto his bed. He freezes when he hears the older musketeer groan from the movement. Porthos searches around Athos' waist for any injuries. Finding none, he exhales a deep breath that he didn't realise he was holding.

The large musketeer continues, handling him even slower as he moves him up against the headboard. Porthos lights a candle by his desk and inhales deeply when he notices how flush Athos looks. He gently lifts his chin up and notices the gleam of sweat that covers his forehead. He places a hand against Athos' cheek, the skin hot to the touch. His chest heaves up and down heavily, taking in deep and rapid breaths. His eyes look unfocused as if unaware as to where he is. Mud cakes the side of his face and disheveled hair. Porthos glances down at his body, noticing that he's slightly trembling and the clothing is thick, wet, and also painted with patches of mud. He undos his doublet to check for any hidden wounds and thankfully there are none. Porthos' face is twisted in anguish and he chews on his bottom lip.

What happened to his brother?

He lightly pats Athos' face. "Can you hear me, Athos?" Still receiving no response, panic rises into his chest. "Please say somethin', anythin'," Porthos pleads, his voice quivering.

\----------

Athos hears a distorted voice getting closer to him, but he's unable to deduce who the voice belongs to or the words being said. His head throbs along with a pang of pain and soreness in his neck. A burning sensation fills his whole body as if he was set over a fire. He feels himself being moved which causes a jolt of pain to run through his circuits and he groans. An orange glow appears in the corner of his eyes and a figure lifts his chin up. Athos tries to decipher who's in front of him, but fails as he's not even able to figure out where he is. Everything is clouded and he can't seem to focus on any of his senses.

He feels a light pat on his cheek and a voice by his face. Athos still cannot discern exactly what is being said, but he can hear the gruffness in the speaker's tone. It takes all his concentration to break through his foggy mind and associate the voice with its owner. 

"Por...thos?" Athos mumbles hoarsely with slow recognition.

He hears a big sigh of relief come from the big man. "Oh thank goodness. 's okay. 'm here. I'll take care of you," Porthos responds, his voice becoming clearer. "First let's get you outta those clothes and lay you down."

Athos looks up wanting to interject the idea, but his throat feels inflamed, being unable to form proper sentences and his body too tired to even move on its own. He capitulates and allows Porthos to remove his doublet, shirt, breeches, socks, and boots. The large musketeer helps him change into a clean, dry pair of trousers and gently lies him down, placing a wet towel on his forehead. The coolness calms the headache that's been raging on, the heat slowly abating away and making his head feel less like a burning furnace. Another damp towel wipes the sweat from his chest, torso, arms, and the dried mud on his face. A sense of relief washes through Athos as the wetness absorbs some of the heat from the fever.

"Now... We gotta do somethin' about your hair. Ain't goin' to be pretty sleepin' like 'hat," Porthos says while pointing at Athos' disheveled hair that is mixed with dried clumps of mud. Athos glances up at the messy mop of hair, reaching a hand up to pick at his bangs.

"Takin' a hot or cold bath isn't goin' to be an option 'cause it won't help with the fever..." the big man mumbles to himself. Porthos frowns and grabs another wet towel, lifts Athos' head gently and tries his best to get rid of the dried sludge. "Guess this'll have to do for now," he says along with a deep sigh.

A slight grimace is planted on Porthos' face as he works. "What happened? How'd you end up covered in mud?" he says, his voice laced with concern.

Athos tries to recall what happened earlier that night, but his mind draws a blank. All he really remembers is finding himself lying outside the tavern. How much he drank or how he ended up outside he had no idea. The older musketeer feels a pang of embarrassment at how ridiculous the situation was. A King's Musketeer getting himself so insanely drunk that he ends up laying outside in a puddle of rain and sludge for who knows how long. He laughs at himself inside. Certainly he's the leader amongst his brothers and knows his duties.

Athos shifts his head towards Porthos and tries to speak, but the soreness of his throat prevents him from getting any words out. Porthos takes notice and brings a cup of water with honey to Athos' lips. "Here, drink this. It'll soothe your throat," Porthos says while gently lifting his head. The cool liquid flows down his throat, bringing instant alleviation in dulling the soreness. He takes a breath and sips more of the water. The musketeer rests back on the pillow and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath from the comforting relief. He tries to sit up a bit so he can face Porthos, but his body won't comply with the simple demand.

He sighs and tests his voice. "I don't... really remember what happened... but you won't believe... how I found myself though," he replies, voice sounding croaky and broken up.

Porthos smirks. "Try me."

Athos avoids eye contact and stares at the ceiling. Silence fills the room for some time before Athos responds with a spike of embarrassment in his tone. "I woke up lying in a puddle of sludge... outside the tavern," he starts coughing, making his throat flare up again. Porthos immediately brings him more honey water.

"I've woken up in worse places. At least you didn't wake up beside a dead body and get convicted for murder," Porthos responds with a light laugh.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Athos' lips for a brief moment as he glances at the large musketeer. He appreciates Porthos' effort to comfort him about the situation, but he still feels stupid and embarrassed at his actions. Getting himself into a drunken stupor where he can't even make his way out the door properly, knowing that people walking out probably saw his musketeer pauldron and judged his reputation makes him want to drown himself in a bucket of water.

Porthos places a hand on Athos' chest, the touch cool and relieving against his body's radiating heat. The dark skinned man's brows arch slightly while giving him a reassuring smile, knowing what thoughts travel through the lieutenant's mind. "Oi, don't dwell on it. The important thing is 'hat you're safe now. 'hat's all that matters. You almost scared me half to death when I saw you toppled on the ground in your room."

Athos furrows his brows in confusion. "I wasn't on the floor..."

Porthos raises his eyebrows in protest. "Yeah, you were. I came to check on you and half your body was danglin' off the bed, face first on the floor."

"You will tell no one of this," the older musketeer immediately growls. The big man snickers and nods while tracing a cross-like gesture over his chest.

Despite the predicament Porthos found him in this time, Athos is secretly grateful that the man checks on him every night he comes home late. His check ins are what keeps Athos sane and grounded. Without him, he's sure that one day he's going to drink himself to death 

One too many times has he been tempted to ask Porthos to stay after a fit, wishing for some company, but he never speaks up; thinking he would be asking too much of him and would be unworthy of his brother's companionship. Too often has Athos hesitated in speaking his heart with how much he really appreciates the drop ins that provide so much reassurance for his own well being. Again, nothing is ever said.

His silence isn't due to his lack of care or appreciation, but because of the struggles to find those words to express his satisfaction. Or maybe his difficulty is associated with his belief of being undeserving. That's always been something he's had trouble with. His behaviour may seem inexpressive with his feelings usually hidden behind a mask of neutrality, but it doesn't change how much gratitude he truly has. There are some displays of recognition that need to be addressed vocally and this is one of them; Porthos should genuinely know his respect for him. The large musketeer has done so much yet he has never properly thanked him for everything. No matter how rarely Athos seems to express his gratitude, he really does appreciate Porthos' care for him.

Although, he is baffled as to why his brother's show him so much kindness when he is unworthy for any of it. He's always been nothing but another complication added onto their own list of problems what with having to babysit him whenever he spirals into despair. What do his brothers think of him? Is he recognised as a nuisance in their lives? The one who's heartless towards their devoted care? No matter how undeserving he feels about everything, Athos doesn't want to be perceived as the brother who only takes and not give back. He should, at least, show his appreciation for their efforts.

His mind is brought back into reality when he realises the long, awkward silence that persisted between them.

"Can I tell you something?" he asks, breaking the stillness.

"Of course," the big man responds with a hint of worry in his tone.

Athos organises his thoughts, searching for the right words to convey himself. He closes his eyes briefly and takes in a deep breath, composing himself with the words resting on the tip of his tongue.

"I just want to say thank you for being so caring and thoughtful. Coming to check on me in the dead of night just to make sure I'm okay," his voice comes out raspy and he pauses to push down the burning feeling building in his throat. "I know I can be a handful and not the easiest person to deal with. I keep my thoughts and feelings enclosed all the time from everyone. Always having so much on my mind, drinking constantly to cope and returning home extremely late as a result causing you all to worry," Athos takes a breath and sighs. He needs to get to the point. "I want you to know I really appreciate all that you do for me. I may seem indifferent towards your care, but that's not true. I'm genuinely grateful for everything. I just ca-" he's cut off by Porthos' finger against his lips.

"Shh... there's no need to thank me. That's what brothers are for," Porthos' smile extends from ear to ear, making Athos' heart skip a beat. "I know you ain't the expressive type vocally, but I can see the gratitude in your eyes and the slight smile that tugs at the corner of your lips from time to time. Don't worry, I know you're not heartless in there," Porthos pokes a finger at Athos' chest on the last word and then leans over to give him a peck on the cheek.

Athos can feel his face turn red from the gesture and he returns his gaze back to the ceiling, hoping Porthos would assume the flush is due to his sick condition.

Athos sighs and whispers. "I'm not worthy for any of your kind-" he is abruptly silenced by a pair of hands wrapping the side of his head and Porthos' face inches from his.

"Don't you ever say that again!" Porthos exclaims, his voice nearly shouting. "We'll stand by you through thick and thin. We'll do anything 'cause you are worth it. You always have been. Remember, all for one..." Porthos gives an expectant smile.

Athos averts his gaze, doubt written across his face. He has never considered himself as someone worth saving. He's fallen too deep into a hole of despair and has desperately tried to climb out. One too many times has he believed to have crawled out of the pit, but ends up tumbling back down when forced to face his problems again. Never can he conquer it, even temporarily, without his brothers' assistance. He can't depend on them forever. Eventually he'll have to learn how to keep himself grounded on his own, but who's to say one can gain independence without help along the way? Situations will always arise that become interferences in people's lives. No one is immune to it. 

He isn't the only person with haunting memories or sorrow to deal with; his brothers have just as much yet he would help them the same way they have with him. Worthy or not, they always have each other's back and make one another stronger. It's this bond of compassion between his brothers that he has to harness not lose.

Athos looks back into Porthos' eyes and smiles, finishing the sentence, "And one for all."

Porthos' mouth stretches into a wide grin. He attempts to speak, but is interrupted from his weary yawn.

Athos turns over and pats Porthos' arm. "This discussion has gone on long enough. You should head back... and get some sleep. I'll be fine," he yawns as well, his eyes beginning to droop, sleep claiming him.

Porthos nods and pulls the blanket up to Athos' chest. The last thing he hears before falling asleep is Porthos' calming voice. "Sleep well, Athos."

\----------

The look of Athos' peaceful face while he sleeps brings Porthos relief and joy. He looks better and relaxed. His complexion starting to return to its normal colour and the heavy load of thoughts he carried from earlier no longer evident on his face. Most importantly though, his brother is back home and safe.

Porthos presses the back of his hand gently against Athos' cheek. The fever has gone down quite a bit, but he decides it'd still be best to change the wet towel in intervals overnight.

Porthos runs a hand down the side of his face, not realising how tired he is until now, lethargy sweeping through him. Bringing a chair to the bedside with a bowl of water and a few towels, he changes the current cloth with a new one. Porthos extinguishes the flame of the candle and situates himself against the side of the bed, drifting off to the light sound of Athos' snoring.

\----------

A hangover and sickness is not the best combination to wake up to. The faint morning light casting into the room indicates it's still too early to be getting up. Staring at the ceiling, Athos groans lightly and drags a hand down the side of his face. The soreness of his throat and body has gotten better and the burning fever seems to have died down. Although, a dull headache still lingers and his head spins with a wave of dizziness that extends from the hangover. He rubs his temples and sighs quietly. He slowly sits up when the towel on his forehead drops into his lap. Picking it up, he realises the rag is still damp. How is it still wet?

The older musketeer hears a soft snoring coming from beside him. He furrows his brows and turns to see Porthos sitting against the bed with arms crossed and his head drooping to the side with his body leaning slightly to the right. Adjacent to him is a bowl of water that sits on a chair with some towels piled beside it. It's immensely satisfying to see his brother first thing in the morning and a blissful smile appears on Athos' face. He plays with Porthos' hair, twirling a finger around in the dark curls and relishing in the gentle sound of his snoring.

Porthos suddenly wakes with a jolt when his body starts to give way towards the ground. He quickly sits up and glances around the room with alert. Athos can't hold back a chuckle as he ruffles his hand in Porthos' hair. "Morning, sleepyhead."

The large musketeer turns to him and gives his usual, if weary smile. He looks terrible judging from the redness of his eyes and the dark circles that form underneath.

"Why are you sleeping on my floor and not back in your bed?" Athos inquires as he adjusts himself further back against the headboard.

"So I can catch you if you decide to plummet your pretty face into the ground again," Porthos replies with a smirk, his tone playfully mocking.

Athos glares at him unamused while Porthos reaches over, brushes his bangs aside and places a hand onto his forehead. He nods in satisfaction at the results of the temperature drop.

"How's the rest of ya feelin'?" Porthos asks with a tilt of the head.

"Better, just a hangover," Athos responds while moving his hands to rub his temples. "I'm fine. I can deal with hangovers. You should head back and get some proper rest," Athos looks at him from top to bottom. "You look like hell."

Porthos complies by getting up, kicking his boots off, and pushing Athos against the wall whilst crawling into bed beside him. "I'll rest here then," he says, sending him a goofy grin.

Athos narrows his eyes at the big musketeer. "You're going to get sick."

Porthos gives a small shrug in response. "I think I'll take my chances." He wraps one arm over him protectively and the other around his head, gently massaging his temple to relieve some of the tension. "Besides, can't 'ave you tumblin' off the bed again," he laughs.

"If you mention that again I will push you off the bed," Athos threatens, giving him a menacing glare. 

That only makes Porthos laugh harder as he stabs a finger at Athos' chest. "I'd like to see you try," the large musketeer responds in amusement.

Athos shoves him playfully and Porthos grins, pulling Athos closer against his body. He gasps slightly, blushing at the gesture and quickly buries his face in Porthos' chest hoping that he didn't see his reaction.

"It's really endearing to see you so vulnerable," he hears Porthos state with a chuckle.

"Sod off," Athos mumbles in annoyance into the large musketeer's chest, his cheeks still flush.

The large musketeer giggles in mirth at his embarrassment while running a hand through Athos' hair. "We should get some more sleep. It's still early," Porthos says with a sleepy yawn.

"Can you stay?" Athos asks quietly.

The one question he's been always meaning to ask multiple times suddenly escapes his lips. The words float in the air for a moment and then dissipates into the silence of the room when it receives no response in return. He regrets asking as soon as the words slip out. Porthos has no need to stay so why should he push him into it? Even though he enjoys his companionship very much, he would never ask for the company and make Porthos feel as if he has an obligation to stay by his side. His intentions are not what it seems. The words just spilled out.

He braces himself for the rejection and ridicule that is to come his way for sounding like a needy sod.

He looks up and Porthos is staring right at him as if confused by the inquiry. Porthos smirks and responds by wrapping himself around Athos like an octopus while kissing his forehead. "Does that answer your question?" he whispers into his ear.

The sudden gesture catches Athos by surprise, not expecting anything endearing to happen.

Why did Porthos choose to stay? He's tempted to ask. He knows Porthos would do anything to assist his fellow brothers, but Athos can't help but feel guilty for giving Porthos a reason to accompany him because he felt sorry for him and seemed so desperate for affection.

Picking up on Athos' quiet demeanor, Porthos lets go and Athos immediately misses the embrace of the large musketeer. Porthos furrows his brows, his face written with concern and guilt. "Are you uncomfortable with me staying? I can leav-"

"No!" Athos blurts out suddenly, surprising himself with how desperate he sounded. "I mean, if you wish to stay I'm fine with it," he mutters.

Porthos doesn't move, his expression still fixed and eyes searching. "Are you sure? I don't want to seem intruding."

"It's okay. Really. I only asked cause I didn't want you to feel duty-bound to companionship due to my issues..." his words falter and he turns away.

A hand reaches to Athos' chin and brings him back so he's gazing into Porthos' dark, brown eyes. "I'm stayin' on my own volition. I want to be with you," he says, his expression serious yet sincere. "Your well-being is of utmost importance to me. I can't lose you, Athos. You mean a lot to me. You shaped me into a better person with your wisdom and guidance. Despite what you think, you've helped me more than you can imagine, seriously. I speak from my heart. What are words if you really don't mean them when you say them?" Porthos replies in a genuine tone along with a heartfelt smile.

The older musketeer returns the smile, feeling his heart flutter briefly from the compliment, but his mind threatens to protest. His seed of doubt has always blossomed from the negative prejudice towards himself, constantly clouded in pessimistic thoughts. He never gives himself a chance to consider how much he really does mean to his brothers. How much his actions have actually made a difference. Hearing Porthos' words makes him break through his doubtful mind.

Athos kisses the crook between Porthos' shoulder and neck before resting his head on the man's chest. "I'm glad to hear that, seriously," Athos says softly.

Giving the top of Athos' head a kiss, Porthos embraces him and rubs his arm gently in small circles, "I'll always be here for you, brother."

Athos smiles, feeling extremely grateful for the brothers that he has. He couldn't ask for anyone better. He drifts off to the slow rise and fall of Porthos' chest under him.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: The line "What are words if you really don't mean them when you say them?" is from the lyrics of a song called 'What Are Words' by Chris Medina. Just thought it fits with how much Porthos really means what he says. :)


End file.
